Hope is Shameless
by BlackHoleBeliever
Summary: ...it brazenly appears in the darkest and strangest places. A law is passed, a war is lost, and life becomes nearly unbearable. There is little chance of recovery for the wizarding world unless someone chooses to stand against the darkness. SS/HG
1. Prologue

Thirty days was a long time to come to terms with the end of your life. At least, that what the Ministry of Magic thought. Thirty days. Seven hundred and twenty hours. Forty-three thousand, two hundred minutes. The counting gave her something to think about besides her fate.

Hermione didn't like being told who she could and couldn't marry. She didn't like being singled out because of her muggle birth. Unfortunately, the Ministry didn't care about her likes and dislikes and had passed the _Unification and Birthrate Stimulus Law_, which was a fancy way of saying _"Pure-bloods are losing their magic. Bollocks, now what?"_

The parchment had arrived that morning, carried by a pompous-looking black Ministry owl. Hermione had read it, stopped, read it again, rubbed her eyes, and promptly dropped the letter on the living room floor of her parents' home before fleeing upstairs to her room. When she had calmed down enough to show her face again, her parents were talking in low voices.

"Did you read it, Jane?" Her father's soft baritone was clearly heard from Hermione's perch on the stairs.

"No, but you're pale enough that I'm not sure I want to." Her mother was already close to tears, from the sound of it. Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her dad was being frighteningly calm, which meant he was furious. Her mother would be in hysterics if she read the damn thing.

She emerged from the stairwell with a subdued air. "It's from the Ministry of Magic."

Jane Granger looked up. "Oh, no..." she whispered, "You're just as pale as your father. Please, just tell me what's in the letter so I'll stop worrying!"

"Mum, I'm being forced to marry."

Jane's shriek of indignation was heard two houses away.

* * *

"Cow Tails."

With a creak and a groan, the stairs began to move and Severus Snape swept into the Headmaster's office. Black robes sweeping wide enough to knock several of Dumbledore's gadgets off their shelves, he crossed his arms and snarled. "What on earth could be so important that you've removed me from my summertime research at eleven in the evening?"

Dumbledore didn't say a word, but simply gestured toward a seat and offered him a lemon drop. The twinkle was disturbingly absent from his eyes. "Sit."

* * *

The flock of owls that arrived at the Burrow was startling to say the least. When a single black bird perched in front of each and every Weasley child, Molly sighed. "I had hoped they wouldn't go through with it."

Ginny opened hers with confusion. "But I'm not going to be of age for another year!" Her eyes shot across the parchment, moving faster with each line. Soon, even her freckles were pale. "I'm an exception to the age limitation because of my unusually high OWL scores in my year," she said tonelessly. Her face pinched and she bolted from the room, muttering about feeling sick.

* * *

"_Boy, what did I say about these ruddy birds?!"_

Harry sighed and pulled the letter from the black owl. Uncle Vernon was in top bellowing form today.

The Ministry seal caught his attention. Oh, dear lord. What had they done to him _this_ time?

* * *

The black owls flooded the wizarding world that day, carrying a simple but effective missive:

_Dear sir or madam,_

_After much debate, the Ministry of Magic has passed into law the Unification and Birthrate Stimulus Act. This law is such that any witch or wizard between the ages of seventeen and seventy must find a husband or wife within the thirty days after receiving this letter. Those of true wizard birth on both sides for four generations (hereafter referred to as "pure-blooded") may petition for the right to marry any eligible witch or wizard of muggle-born or "half-blood" status. Those who receive their first petition have thirty days from that date to either set a date for marriage (the arrangement for which is outlined in the attached pamphlet) or to turn in their wand and remove themselves from magical society. If more than one petition is received during this period, the petitioned may choose from among them. The couple, after having wed, is then expected to conceive a child within two years of their wedding day._

_Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials._

_Sincerely,_

_Tabitha Marigold_

_Ministry of Magic Birthrate Stimulus Oversight Committee_

* * *

The Malfoys wasted no time. Draco was penning letters that evening.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew was chortling with delight as he pictured capturing a young and attractive bride.

* * *

The Weasleys were clustered around Ginny, offering what comfort they could. It wasn't until Ron asked "Hey, has anyone heard from Hermione?" that they realized the scope of this law.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-


	2. Chapter I

**CHAPTER I:**

Hermione didn't get any sleep that night. Her mattress was determined to make her even more miserable than she already was. It wasn't hard to figure out that the Death Eaters would lining up to win the best friend of Harry Potter as their unwilling bride, and she really didn't want to think about what that would entail. She moaned and flipped her pillow over to the cool side.

Two days ago, she had been thrilled to be named Head Girl. Two days ago, her main concern was her over-the-break Transfiguration essay she was doing for extra credit. Two days ago, she had been happily thinking about an easy future with a loving husband...and that was one of those "someday" things that she would occasionally ponder, not an actual plan.

Now? Now she was doomed.

The Ministry letter had been crumpled into a ball, and Crookshanks was happily batting it across her bedroom floor. _Good riddance, _she thought. She wasn't sure if this was a legitimate act of the Ministry or if Voldemort and his minions had leaned on the wizengamot enough to make them pass the law. Neither one would surprise her. What would she do?

Her first option, of course, would be to marry one of the Weasley boys. They were pure-bloods, after all, and would be more than willing to help her. Unfortunately, she doubted any of them would be able to survive the machinations of the Death Eaters. They would be dead before the honeymoon.

That thought pulled her up short. She had studied the details of the law in depth, and was well aware of the consummation and conception clauses. She had never gone that far with anyone. She had gotten close with Viktor, and closer with Peter Gambol, a Ravenclaw one year older than she was whom she had dated toward the end of last term. She had discovered, however, that boys her own age were always thinking about sex, no matter what they were doing. It was obnoxious.

She sighed and sat up, giving in to the fact that she wouldn't get any sleep tonight. As soon as she shoved her feet into her fuzzy purple slippers, she heard a _tap-tap-tap_ on her window. A handsome screech owl fluttered in and settled on her desk, offering her the letter tied to his leg. She didn't recognize the bird at all, but she fed it an owl treat from the tiny bag she kept on hand for Hedwig's occasional visits and took the letter. The bird didn't leave.

"Are you waiting for a reply?" she asked. He simple resettled himself and perched on the back of her chair. "I'll take that as a yes."

The seal on the letter was silver wax and had an elegant "S" surrounded by ivy. It looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place where she'd seen it. The parchment was dry and expensive, and once she saw the spiky handwriting, she nearly gasped.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_No doubt the arrival of a personal letter from your Potions Master is causing you no small degree of confusion and anxiety. Rest assured, this is not my intention. I am writing instead to inquire whether you have received one of the ridiculous letters from the Ministry. If you have, your over-active mind has already made the connection to the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. _

_It is true that you are in grave danger. The Death Eaters have been given a direct order: whoever can secure the "Mudblood friend of the Boy-Who-Lived" will be elevated among our ranks to the Inner Circle. I cannot give you a lesson on the rank system of Death Eaters now, girl, so bite your tongue and let me finish._

She found herself smirking, because it just occurred to her to ask how prestigious a position that was, exactly. She read on.

_Suffice it to say that any of the Weasley children would be woefully inadequate to protect you, and even if they did, it would all be for naught because they would simply bore you to death. If it is amenable to you, I shall send a petition for your hand to the Ministry. Before you protest, Miss Granger, let me remind you that this is by far one of your best choices for several reasons._

_I can hear your hot-headed protests even now, Miss Granger. Cease them at once, and reply as soon as you finish reading. I wish to meet with you at your earliest convenience to discuss details. Erebus will wait for your return letter._

_Regards,_

_Severus E. Snape_

She sat heavily on her bed. Crookshanks hopped up beside her and _mewled_ for attention, so she scratched him absent-mindedly as she thought. When she glanced up, the owl was still waiting patiently. "Erebus, eh?" she said. Typical of Snape to name his owl after the Greek god of darkness. He was very well behaved, though, and very elegant for such a large bird.

She picked up a quill, grabbed some parchment, and penned a reply. As Erebus flew away, she wondered if it was too cruel to wish for lightning to strike him down before he reached his owner.

—————————————

Malfoy Manor was full of the opulence of several generations' worth of undeserved wealth. The polished black marble floors gleamed in the torchlight as cloaked figure after cloaked figure apperated into the foyer. The low murmur of voices came from an adjacent ballroom.

Snape headed that direction, for once grateful for the white mask he wore. His cheek was blistered and it itched madly. When he had returned from his meeting with Dumbledore, he had gone immediately to his desk to write a letter to Hermione Granger. It wasn't until he had finished that he remembered the unsupervised and untested potion still brewing in his lab. In his haste, he banged open the door far too forcefully, unsettling the volatile concoction. The explosion would have injured him far worse had it not been for the self-preserving damping spells surrounding his lab.

He took his place among the assembled. His particular rank left him halfway back from the Dark Lord's throne, but directly in front rather than to either side. He sank to his knees and waited.

Beside him, Macnair wheezed, "Any ideas?"

Snape didn't have to ask what he meant. No one knew the reason their master had called this meeting, and no one had the courage to ask. "I'm sure we shall find out momentarily."

As if Snape's words had summoned him, Voldemort himself strode through the room to his throne. Even with his long and powerful stride, he radiated a snake-like grace. His red eyes scanned the room in silence for a long minute. Every Death Eater had his or her head bowed in respect. Those in front knelt on one knee, while those in the middle (like Snape himself) were on two knees. In the back of the room and on the fringes of the group were the lowest ranked, either because they were new or because they were untrustworthy. These were forced to stay prostrate, face to the floor, until the conclusion of the meeting. Snape remembered those days, and his knees ached in memory.

"Thertius!" Voldemort's voice was so sudden that his followers flinched as one entity. To Snape's left and slightly back, a man stood.

"My lord." He sounded nervous.

"Gregory Thertius, you have failed to attend these meetings for over a month. When we are finally _graced _with your presence, I learn that you have not completed your assignment. What have you to say?" Voldemort's eyes never wavered from Thertius's. It was an unsettling feeling, leaving your mind open to the most evil and vile creature to walk the earth. Snape didn't pity the man at all.

"My lord," the Death Eater knelt again as he attempted to avert as much pain as possible. "Your law has passed, and the Ministry is playing directly into your hands as we speak. I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Choice, my dear Thertius!" the Dark Lord bellowed. "You failed to _complete_ your assignment. The petitioned mudbloods have a _choice_ in whom they can marry. Are you so completely incompetent as to allow this? You gave them a means of escape!"

"M-m-my lord..."

"_SILENCE!"_

The only sound for a long, tense moment was Nagini's scales sliding over the marble floor toward her master. Voldemort stroked her long body as if she were a lover before smiling widely. Thertius whimpered.

"Since I'm feeling just as generous as you are, Gregory..." he said, tapping his wand contemplatively against his thin white lips, "I'll give _you _a choice."

He called forth Macnair and Eric Normand, both of whom had reputations for being utterly vicious in completely different ways: Macnair loved to let his victims bleed to death from hundreds of mild slicing hexes; Normand got his thrills from the screams of his victims as he violated them before cutting their throat (he had no preference when it came to gender, either).

"You're going to die tonight, Gregory." Voldemort delivered this news in the same tone he might use to discuss quidditch scores. "But you now have a choice. Do you wish to die by Macnair's wand, or by Normand's knife?"

Thertius was trembling at this point. "M-m-my l-l-lo-lord..._please!"_

"I'll give you thirty seconds to decide."

The man was sobbing now, and his shallow breaths echoed in the large ballroom.

"Twenty seconds. Tick-tock, Mr. Thertius. Don't worry; we'll send your body to your family straight away."

Thertius muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Dear God, save me."

"Ten."

More sobs.

"Nine."

He began to beg aloud.

"Eight."

Macnair fingered his wand.

"Seven."

Normand licked his lips.

"Six."

Finally, Thertius deflated. _"Alright!" _he shouted, "Macnair. I'll take Macnair. Please, just get it over with."

Disappointed, Normand took his place in the crowd once more.

The screams of Gregory Thertius echoed through Malfoy Manor until the small hours of morning.


	3. Chapter II

_A/N: Okay, I just realized I haven't done this yet._

_1) This story is un-betad and un-brit-picked. If you feel like volunteering for either of these jobs, contact me. :D_

_2) Don't own anything you recognize, blah, blah, blah._

_3) Yes, I realize that Snape is a half-blood. For the purpose of this story, however, I'm making him as pure-blooded as they come._

_4) Don't worry, there's going to be plot soon._

_CHAPTER II:_

Harry Potter was thrilled. Not only was he getting out of the Dursley's home, but he would never have to come back here again. He shrunk his school trunk (magic outside of school! _Yes!_), made his bed, grabbed Hedwig's cage—she had gone ahead to the Burrow—and apparated straight from his room.

Mrs. Weasley was the first one out of the house to greet him. "Oh, dear boy! How have you been? Look at you! You're so thin! Let's get some food into you, those rotten muggles never did feed you properly. Oh, the family's all here, you know. Well, except for Percy, he still wants nothing to do with us. Did I mention I made shepherd's pie?" She kept the stream of questions up until they got inside. Harry smiled. He was home.

In the living room, all of the boys and Mr. Weasley were sitting around the cold fireplace deep in some kind of discussion. There was a tense, uncomfortable silence hanging in the air like the proverbial axe over their heads.

Harry sighed, sat down and asked the inevitable question. "So, what now?"

* * *

Hermione wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and looked in her mirror. She had pinned her hair up. Late last term, frustrated beyond reason with the bushy mop, she had checked out every available book on potions research and development from the school library. She looked, took notes, made some predictions, and made her own conditioner. Now she was glad she had taken the time.

There was no way in hell she was going to discuss marriage with her greasy Potions Master while looking like she had stuck her finger in an electrical socket.

She turned in front of the mirror and tried to see herself objectively. She had filled out over the last year or two and no longer had the figure of a little girl. She didn't own a lick of makeup besides some lipgloss (which she was wearing), and her clothes made her look a little more mature. She had agreed to meet Snape in a restaurant in muggle London, citing that if they decided not to go through with it, she didn't want to bother with the headache that would come with someone seeing her having dinner with her teacher in the _Leaky Cauldron_ or the _Three Broomsticks_.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to seriously imagine a lifetime married to Snape. The advantage of being married to a brilliant mind was one of the first things that had occurred to her. Would she live in his quarters? Were those chambers in the dungeons, like his office was?

What if he found her repulsive?

The last thing she wanted was to marry a true Death Eater. Right after that on her do-not-want list was having a loved one killed because they couldn't stand up to a Death Eater. So far, Snape seemed like her best option, but he was intolerable! He was snarky, sarcastic and cutting. She remembered with vitriol his comment "I see no difference," in regards to her spell-enlarged teeth a few years ago. Was he doing this out of pity? Or because Dumbledore asked him? That last one might actually make sense.

She adjusted her skirt again. Why was she so nervous?

Finally, she snatched up her purse and her wand before heading into the backyard to apparate.

* * *

Snape sighed as he shrugged on a dark green jumper. Black slacks were typical for him, but he felt a little too exposed without his billowing teaching robes.

Not for the first time, he wondered why he had sent her that letter. After Dumbledore informed him of his duties under the new law, Snape had felt ill. He had lived his whole life as a bachelor, damn it! As if it wasn't bad enough to be in the middle of a full-scale war, the Ministry just had to ruin his life further by forcing him to marry. And it didn't help that the only muggle-born or half-blood female that might have be halfway _close_ to being tolerable as a spouse was one of his own students.

In his brooding, it took him five minutes to realize he was putting his left shoe on his right foot. He growled and pulled it onto the proper appendage.

His reflection in the washroom mirror scowled at him and said "Well, if you're not going to be pleasant to the poor girl, at least look presentable."

Snape growled and reached for a razor. He hoped that this half-baked idea would work. He knew that Miss Granger was most likely repulsed by him, and had probably harbored a grudge against him for the majority of her six years of schooling. On the other hand, she was probably just as reluctant to marry any of the boys her own age simply because of the fear of boredom. That, he knew, would not be the case if she married him. _When _she married him.

He felt like a dirty old perv for even suggesting it to her, to be frank. It wasn't as if he made it a habit to ogle his underage students. Her only appealing feature was her quick mind, even though it needed some training. One could not expect to get very far if they sounded like a walking, talking encyclopedia. He could purchase one of those at Flourish and Blotts and was not about to tolerate having one for a wife.

"There, that's better," said the mirror testily. "Now get your arse out the door or you'll be late!"

As soon as he was out of the Hogwarts gates, he threw out his wand for the Knight Bus.

* * *

Hermione was sitting at a table in the back of the diner as she waited for Professor Snape. He was late; she had been early. The combination set her teeth on edge. Outside, it was raining and the diner was crowded. She ordered a coffee from the waitress and stared at the door. When her drink arrived, she grimaced at the taste. Hogwarts fare had spoiled her for any other food or drink.

Fifteen minutes after she had arrived, she saw Snape walking toward the establishment. He looked a little ill, and she realized that he must have taken the Knight Bus. He didn't immediately see her, so she took her time assessing his appearance without his knowledge. Her first surprise came when she saw how he was dressed. Of course, she realized, he couldn't exactly wear his teaching robes in the muggle world. The dark green was utterly Slytherin but also very easy on the eyes. He was smaller than she remembered, but then that could be the lack of billowing black fabric.

His eyes finally settled on her from across the diner, and she felt herself flush slightly. He slid easily into the booth, ordered coffee from the prompt waitress, and set his piercing black gaze onto her face. "Good evening," he said.

"Good evening, Professor."

He grimaced. "In light of our discussion this evening, I would prefer to dispense with formal salutations, Hermione."

Hearing her given name from his mouth sounded utterly bizarre, and she blinked a few times before trying it herself. "As you wish, Severus." She shook her head. "That felt odd."

"Indeed. Have you given any thought to my proposal?" His coffee had arrived, but it must have been too hot to drink because he simply stared into his mug like it held the meaning to life.

Yes, she had given it plenty of thought. She had been going round and round in her head about it for the two days since he had sent the letter. First she would talk herself into it, then she would talk herself back out of it. She had told her parents exactly where she was going this evening. They had wanted to come, but Hermione knew that this was a decision she had to make on her own, and she truly did want to speak to Sna—Severus.

"Hermione?" He was looking right into her eyes again, and she realized with some embarrassment that he was still waiting for her to respond.

"I...ahem...yes, I've thought about it," she said. Resolutely, she met his raised-eyebrow expression with a steady gaze. "I've no idea whether it's a good idea or not. Perhaps you can enlighten me as to your reasoning? I can't help but realize that I'm not thinking clearly about this whole thing."

"What pros and cons have you come up with?" He sipped at his cup and then pulled a face. "This is a horrible excuse for coffee."

This last comment was such a non-sequitur that Hermione laughed aloud. "I'm sorry," she said, "It's just that I did almost the exact same thing about ten minutes before you got here."

He smirked slightly at that. "Remind me to order some tea next time the waitress comes around. Even if it's old and stale, it'd be better than this watered down thestral snot."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at that analogy. "Thanks for that mental image. I was making decent progress on mine before that. Now I won't be able to finish."

His smirk deepened. "My pleasure," he said, "But you still aren't answering my questions."

"I'm not? Oh, sorry." She took deep breath and blew it out. "Honestly, I'm not sure what kind of pros and cons there are besides being able to finish my education but having to live with a snarky and irritating man for the rest of my life." She flashed him what she hoped was a apologetic expression. "That's unfortunately as far as I get before my brain wanders off on an angry tangent toward the government."

"No doubt this law is something of a kick in the teeth for the local champion of house-elf rights." His smirk was now approaching a real, sincere smile and Hermione couldn't help but notice that it made him look at least a decade younger.

She tried to be offended, but couldn't muster the energy for it and told him so. "I just don't understand why they did this in the middle of the war."

"Isn't it obvious?" He said it in the condescending tone of voice he used with Neville Longbottom after grading an abysmal potion.

"No," she was really trying to restrain her ire, but it was getting difficult.

He sighed and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table and using subtle motion of his hands to emphasize his speech. "The Dark Lord has many people among the government. By having key members of the wizengamot push this act into law, not only does he gain more power over the wizarding world, but he distracts the average citizens with unfair laws and uses the ensuing chaos to his advantage. By having his followers marry half-bloods and muggle-borns, he is given access to their lives, their families, etcetera." He leaned back in his chair. "It's the perfect move in the grand chess game. He has pinned us. Either we remove our attention from the physical threat of the Dark Lord and his followers, or we risk having some of the most valued members of our society being stolen out from under our noses."

Her eyes were wide with sudden understanding. "And either way, the advantage he gains will be considerable."

A single, elegant nod was his only response.

"Why did you choose me, Professor?"

"It's 'Severus,'" he corrected, "And I chose you because, out of all the eligible women I know, you are the only one I would not be tempted to throw off the astronomy tower within a week." His smirk was firmly in place, and she could only hope he was joking.

"Besides," he said, "Can you really imagine yourself tied to one of those dunderheaded boys that are within your own age group for the rest of your life?"

"No," she smirked, matching his expression of amusement and mild disgust. "I would throw _myself_ off the astronomy tower within that week."

"And me?" He focused on her eyes again and didn't allow her to look away. "Think about it. I'm not nice and I'm not personable, but I will allow you to stay at Hogwarts; by marrying you, I'll be put in a better position for my duty to the Order; I am wealthy enough for you to never have to work, and you'll have the privacy and resources you need for your studies this upcoming term and beyond."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. She could see herself reading a book from Severus's library while curled up in front of a fire. She could see staying up for hours discussing academics with him, or helping him with his research. She could probably help him with his grading. When she tried to imagine taking him to bed and raising a child with him, she realized that the most unpleasant things she could think of were his sarcasm and his overly large nose. She supposed she would get used to them over time. Suddenly, something he said sparked a question. "How exactly did you become so wealthy on a teacher's salary?"

If he was surprised by such a seemingly random question, he didn't show it. "I'm the heir of an ancient pure-blood line. Just as the "nobility" of some muggle families depends on how closely they are related to the royal family, wizarding families are judged on their blood-relation to Merlin's direct lineage." Here, he frowned. "I'm technically a duke, but as I'm the only surviving member of the Snape line and as I teach at Hogwarts, I'm not recognized as such because I'm not often exposed to polite society."

"A duke? Really?" She smiled slyly. "That's an even stranger image than the thestral snot."

His answering scowl was full of humor. Perhaps this arrangement had some merit after all.


	4. Chapter III

_A/N: Ok, folks. This is where the fun begins. I don't know where this is going or how it all works out. I'm along for the ride as much as you are. This is still un-betad, still not mine, and still awaiting your reviews. If you have questions on anything, don't hesitate to contact me. Those of you have reviewed, thank you! I love hearing such positive feedback, and you guys remind me that I have a story to write when I get distracted by pesky things like Calculus homework._

_Enjoy!_

_**CHAPTER III:**_

When she came back, her parents were waiting in the living room for her. A glance at the clock on the mantle told her it was nearing midnight. "Why are you up so late?"

"We wanted to know how it went with Mr. Snope."

Hermione sighed as she dropped her purse and plopped down onto the couch. "It's 'Snape,'" she said, "And I think it went well. He's probably the only eligible bachelor on this side of the Atlantic that I could tolerate as a husband."

"What about that red-headed boy from school?" her dad asked.

She snorted. "Ron? Don't get me wrong, Ron is a great person, but we'd never make it as a married couple. First of all, he wouldn't approve of me pursuing a career instead of being a homemaker. Second, I'm apparently on Voldemort's hit list. He wouldn't be able to protect me if it came down to a fight."

Her mum didn't like that at all. "If Ron can't protect you, what makes you think this Mr. Snape can?"

Oh, dear. She really didn't want to get into his bizarre Death Eater/Spy duties for the Order. Her parents would have a fit. She settled on the truth, but only to an extent. "He's a powerful wizard, mum. One of the best out there."

"Okay, but..." her dad's look of distaste preceded the most obvious question of all. "Isn't he a little...well..._old _for you?"

Hermione let her head fall back onto the couch. "He's twenty years older than me, yes. But that's really not the point, is it?" She was tired, and all she wanted was to go to bed. She told her parents this and, ignoring their protests, dragged her weary body up the stairs and fell onto her bed. She was asleep within moments.

* * *

Harry woke that next morning with an odd feeling of foreboding. He had learned not to ignore these odd impulses, so he got dressed and wandered down to the kitchen of the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley was making breakfast. He sat down and asked if Ginny had come out of her room yet. They had told him last night that they hadn't seen her since she received her letter.

"Haven't seen her, dear. Maybe you should take her a plate?"

"Sure." He took the steaming plate of bacon eggs and toast from her and took it upstairs along with his own breakfast. His hands were full, so he kicked gently at her door. "Knock, knock, Gin! I have breakfast for you!"

"Go away!"

He sighed, stacked the plates precariously, and pointed his wand at her locked door. "_Alohamora!"_

She was sitting on her bed, facing the window, and clutching her Ministry letter. He closed the door quietly behind him and held the plate in front of her face. "Hungry?" He tried to speak softly. She looked like she'd spook easily.

Ginny shook her head. "What gives them the right?" she asked.

He didn't need to ask for clarification. He set the plate on her lap and put an arm around her shoulder. "Nothing does, Ginny. But the only thing we can do is make the best of it."

"How can I?" When she turned her face toward him, it took all he had not to flinch. She looked like death warmed over and she had obviously been crying. Her face was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. Even her familiar fiery hair had lost its luster. He now truly regretted breaking up with her two months ago.

"Listen, Ginny..." He took a deep breath. _Time to swallow your pride, Potter._

"What?"

"I've been thinking...I was really stupid last term. You know, when I—"

"When you tore my heart out and ripped it into little pieces?" She interrupted venomously.

Harry nodded meekly. "So, I know I've been a real arse...but if you can forgive me, I think we could make each other happy if you...y'know...want to..." He couldn't continue, and her incredulous look had him mentally kicking himself. _Idiot! You broke her heart, and you expect her to want to marry you?_

"You know what?" Ginny said, wiping her tear-stained eyes. She smiled wanly. "That may be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

* * *

In Hogsmeade, a large grey rat scampered through the foot traffic on Main Street. It was a beautiful summer day, and the locals were taking advantage of it before nearby Hogwarts began the new term. The rat dodged through booted feet and into the Hog's Head pub before slipping through a storage room door. A moment later, Peter Pettigrew emerged in all his sniveling, timid glory.

The hooded man at the counter nodded at him and motioned to a seat on his left. Pettigrew sat down and squeaked an order for firewhiskey to the bartender. The hooded figure turned to him and gave a deep chuckle. "She'll never take you over the other offers, Wormtail. You know this, surely?"

Pettigrew just nodded meekly. "I know...but Granger isn't the only one I've petitioned for. I'll have a fresh young sprite of a bride for myself before this is over, mark my words." His words were brave, but his posture gave the impression that he was bracing himself for a blow at any moment.

The hooded figure turned back to his drink. "Tell our Lord that I have news, but I may not be able to get away until the weekend if he doesn't want me to draw attention."

Pettigrew nodded and practically ran out of the door, completely forgetting to change back to his animagus form in his rush.

* * *

That friday, a full six days after the letters had been sent, the petitions began to pour in. Hermione had expected a few, but what she hadn't expected were the outrageous gifts that accompanied some of them.

It took most of the morning to sort through the petitions from known Death Eaters: Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Macnair and Rabastan Lestrange were the names she knew. She was required by law to look over and consider every petition made to her, but it was time consuming to cast the necessary detection spells for any dark magic in the packages.

She had been sent some marvelous pieces of jewelry from Lestrange and Malfoy, but didn't touch them with her hands. It wouldn't surprise her if they had been enchanted like the necklace that had almost killed poor Katie Bell last year.

Macnair had sent her a book on the Dark Arts: _Spells of Deception _by S. Stone. It wasn't cursed, and it was a first edition. With a raised eyebrow, she set it aside and decided to keep it, even though it was obviously a questionable book.

Crabbe and Goyle, in their unlimited capacity for mediocrity, had sent her boxes of chocolates.

After penning neat and polite refusals to each man, she repackaged their gift and sent it back with their own owl. Smirking slightly, she pictured Macnairs face when he realized she had kept his gift but refused him.

There were, surprisingly, only three proposals left. Only one of them held a package, so she decided to leave that one for last. She knew from the silver wax seal on the envelope that it was from Severus.

She flipped a knut to decide which of the others to open first, and picked up the one on the left. It was from Ron. She sighed. _Of course he would do something like this, _she thought, _It's not as if he thinks I have much choice._

_Dear Hermione,_

_You probably expected this letter from me, so here goes nothing. Will you marry me? I know we have nothing in common except for Harry, but that may be enough. If you find someone better, though, I'll understand. I'm not smart, but I'm not stupid enough to think we'd get along well as a married couple. Don't get me wrong, I do love you; I just don't think we'd let each other live very long if we had to live together. Please keep me in mind though, because I _will _marry you if it will keep you out of danger._

_Let me know as soon as you can,_

_Ronald Weasley_

She had to read it a few times before she realized that Ron was smarter than she had ever given him credit for. He was willing to sacrifice his own happiness to keep her out of danger, but he understood that they would not be good for each other. She picked up her quill and wrote:

_Dear Ron,_

_Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid you're right: It would be monumentally stupid for us to get married. Perhaps you should contact Lavender. I know she's a little overbearing, but I think you may be made for each other. Don't worry about me, I've found a husband. I really would prefer not to tell you until I think you're ready to hear it, because you'll simply fly off the handle. Just trust me, and I'll tell you soon. Give my love to your family (and Harry if he's there)._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

The next one was a nervous but heartfelt offer from none other than Neville Longbottom. He confessed that he had written to several girls at his Gran's insistence and would perfectly understand if she refused. Her return letter was a brief but polite refusal, and she closed it with encouraging words about petitioning Susan Bones from Hufflepuff.

Finally, she opened the letter from Severus.

_Dear Hermione,_

_As we have previously discussed, this is my official proposal of marriage. Do reply with acceptance and a convenient time for our ceremony. On that day, I shall arrive at your home to escort you and your parents to the Ministry. In the enclosed package, you will find my engagement gift to you. The jewelry has been in my family for seven generations, passed down the female line. They will now belong to you. Also, your ring is enclosed along with a parchment explaining the charms surrounding it._

_Regards,_

_Severus_

A moment of utter despair gripped her heart. The letter was as dry and factual as his Potions lectures. There was no hint of emotion, good or bad, contained on the page. She would spend the rest of her life with a man who only cared for her insofar as her health was concerned. Gone was the chance at finding love.

An instant later, the despair had softened into simple resignation. She had no choice. She replied with an acceptance and the letter glowed white briefly, conveying the information to the Ministry of Magic. She watched Erubus fly away with a heavy feeling in her chest.

* * *

In the Minister's office, Scrimgeour was sitting at his desk and cleaning his spectacles. This law had the populace in an uproar, and he had been overruled by the wizengamot when he protested it's implementation. From there, his control over certain powerful Ministry appointees had begun to slip and even his secretary was becoming uncharacteristically hostile towards him.

The practical upshot of all this was that he now had a perpetual migraine.

"Mr. Malfoy is here to see you, sir." The nasally voice of the secretary was speaking through a photo of her on the far wall of his office.

Oh, that was just bloody brilliant! The last person he wanted to talk to was Lucius Malfoy, but he supposed he had no choice. "Send him in, Miss Harper."

And in he came in his tailored velvet robes, blond hair immaculate. Scrimgeour truly loathed this man, but he was a politician, and he wore the mask of utter indifference quite well. "What can I do for you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I've come to discuss some details of this new marriage law, Minister. There are some things in it that I find quite startling."

"I doubt you have much to say that I haven't heard already, Mr. Malfoy."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Malfoy's smile was unnerving. Scrimgeour squinted at him, but couldn't tell what, exactly, had his Auror instincts buzzing.

The Minister gripped his wand underneath the desk and shuffled some papers. "Please, Mr. Malfoy, get to the point. I'm not in the mood for verbal fencing today and I'm rather pressed for time."

Malfoy's face began to pale slightly. "I don't like that fact that these mudbloods have a choice when confronted with proposals. Wouldn't it be more expedient to have them choose whichever petition arrives first?"

_Polyjuice! _Scrimgeour could see Malfoy's features reshaping. He tried to draw his wand to defend himself, but "Malfoy" was faster.

"_Incarcerous!"_

The Minister of Magic was bound with ropes on the floor of his own office, staring with dread into the enraged face of Voldemort himself.

* * *

Miles away, in the Burrow, Harry Potter screamed and clutched at his scar.

_A/N: The plot thickens. Coming up: Hermione becomes aware of some bizarre changes in her life, Severus is sarcastic, Ron finds himself a girl, and the Ministry is about to face the fury of the second-most powerful wizard alive._


	5. Chapter IV

_A/N: I'm alive! Sorry about the delay, folks. That pesky thing called "reality" got in the way and wouldn't leave 'till I paid it some attention. Anyway, it's gone now, which means you get a new chapter! Yay!_

_Disclaimer: If you recognize 'em, I don't own 'em._

* * *

CHAPTER 4

When Harry got to Dumbledore's office and told him of his vision, the Headmaster took it very seriously. He flooed Tonks and Shacklebolt immediately. "You need to check on the Minister. He's been attacked."

They didn't ask for explanation, and Harry sagged in his seat. It wasn't as if he was a fan of Rufus Scrimgeour, but he didn't want to see the man dead—or worse—by Voldemort's hand. He just hoped the Aurors would get there in time. It was a tense few minutes before Shacklebolt's head appeared in the green flames again with a deep frown on his face. "He's not here. There's no sign of the Minister in his office, his secretary has been Obliviated, and there's a taste of Dark Magic in the air near his desk."

Harry put his face into his hands. "Dear Merlin. I thought I might have been on time to save him." He concentrated on his scar and could feel the utter and complete glee emanating from his blood-bonded enemy. It was sickening.

Dumbledore didn't look upset, exactly, but utterly determined. "This is it," he said softly, settling a piercing and twinkle-free gaze on the young Gryffindor, "Tom is finally initiating his final plans. It won't be long now."

Harry swallowed with difficulty and was about to ask what the Headmaster had planned when there was a knock on the office door.

"Come in!"

Professor Snape came in open-mouthed, prepared to fire off a question at Dumbledore. When he saw Harry, however, his jaw closed with an audible _snap _and he glowered at him with crossed arms.

"Out, Potter. I must speak with the Headmaster."

After looking at Dumbledore for confirmation, Harry turned toward the floo. "I'll let you know when I have news, Mr. Potter," said the old man.

* * *

Severus visibly relaxed when Potter was gone. Irritating little prat just _had _to be in Dumbledore's office at that very moment, didn't he. He sighed and plopped into one the cushy armchairs in front of the over-large desk. "I've found a bride, Albus, but you're not going to like it."

Albus simple raised an eyebrow, steepled his fingers, and waited for an elaboration.

"I've discussed it with her at length, and Hermione Granger has consented to marry me."

Severus watched as the color drained from his face then slowly was replaced with deep red. "_Pardon me?" _He was obviously furious, but Severus hoped he'd be willing to listen.

"Please, Albus, let me explain—"

"Hermione Granger? Do you have any idea what this means for the poor girl?"

"Yes," Severus said coldly, "It means that she is well aware of the danger she is in, and has made a carefully thought-out decision based on her available options. I've told you about the Dark Lord's edict concerning her."

Albus, with obvious effort, calmed himself. "You are still marrying a student, Severus! What the hell were you thinking? And this attack on the Minister doesn't help matters at all..."

This was news. "What attack?" Severus leaned forward in his seat. He hadn't been contacted about any forthcoming attacks. Usually, the Dark Lord would brief him because he needed to have a story by the time someone spoke to him about it. His position as a spy was precious to both sides, even though he was only loyal to one.

Dumbledore relayed the details they had gathered so far. "Minister Scrimgeour was attacked in his office this morning, early. Harry saw the encounter through his connection with Tom, which means that Tom was likely there for the attack. The Aurors are investigating, but the Minister remains to be found."

_Oh, bollocks._ "I was not aware of this plan."

"I never said you might have been. We're doing what we can to recover Rufus, but in the meantime, your role is more precious than ever."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off an oncoming headache. "That's another reason Hermione agreed to this arrangement. She knows how much it will mean to my position. Also, she knows that no other Death Eater will be even close to kind, and that no pureblood her own age would survive for long."

Albus nodded. "I suppose you're right, though I will have to object to addressing her as 'Hermione' anywhere but to her face."

"Very well. We were hoping you would perform the binding so we would have a modicum of privacy." In truth, this had just occurred to him. He would have to owl Hermione again if Albus agreed. They didn't need the media attention that a Ministry binding would bring.

The Headmaster looked at his phoenix, Fawkes, who sat on his perch watching the conversation. "What do you think?"

Fawkes trilled softly and eyed Severus with a penetrating gaze before letting loose a single note of silky phoenix song. Severus immediately felt soothed.

"Very well, Severus. I've always trusted you, and Fawkes is a good judge of how a situation will turn out. You have our blessing."

Severus exhaled noisily and slumped in his seat. "Thank Merlin. I need to owl Hermione." He ignored the voice in his head that wondered why, exactly, he was so anxious to please.

* * *

Hermione got the short note from her fiancé just as she was about to head downstairs. Hearing that Dumbledore would be performing the ceremony and not some nameless Ministry peon sent warmth into her heart. He apologized (Snape apologizing! What was the world coming to?) for not thinking of the option sooner and told her to inform her parents of the new arrangement.

_Well, here goes nothing._ Hermione found Jane and Frank Granger in the kitchen, sipping tea and reading the newspaper. She sat down nervously and touched her thumb to the inside of her engagement ring. She could already tell that it would become a new nervous habit.

Her parents looked up expectantly when she cleared her throat. "Mum, Dad...I just wanted to let you know that it's settled. I'm getting married in three weeks, and Headmaster Dumbledore will be performing the ceremony."

Jane immediately began to get tears in her eyes. "Oh, my little girl. I wish this could be the happy occasion for you as it was for me." Hermione was encased in a three-way hug for a long minute before her father spoke.

"When do we get to meet Mr. Snape?" he asked.

Hermione bit her lip. She really hadn't given it much thought. "I don't know, yet. Soon. I was hoping to spend most of the day with him as often as I can over the next few weeks. We don't really know each other all that well, you see."

Frank nodded. "Yes, that would be best. Do make sure to talk to us if you need anything, okay love?"

Hermione nodded weakly.

Jane then pulled a radiant smile. "Now then, let's see this ring of yours."

She held out her hand and watched them gasp at the heirloom. It was simple and small, but elegant. A single emerald-cut diamond was set into white gold and accompanied by two small sapphires on either side. The gold was thin, but shaped like a braided vine with the stones held by shining metal leaves. It was, in a word, breathtaking.

As her mum exclaimed over the jewelry piece, Hermione explained that it had some protection and communication charms built right in, but that she hadn't had the chance to use them yet.

"Well, if he's given you a jewel like that he can't be all bad, now can he?" Frank was optimistic. Hermione wished she could say the same.

* * *

Severus looked up as he heard the knock on his door at Spinner's End. That would be Hermione. They had arranged to spend some time together before the wedding. To the Dark Lord, it was a ploy for him to get into her good graces. In reality, he wanted her to get a little more used to him before he was forced to bed her. The thought was getting slowly less stomach-churning, but he still felt like a bludger was caught in his stomach.

When he opened the door, it took him a minute to recognize his fiancé. He was so used to her school robes that her khaki skirt and white blouse momentarily stunned him. She was, he admitted, growing into a fine young woman. It was not an easy concept for him to grasp.

She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Hi," she said, "Can I come in?"

He realized that he had been staring and stepped aside.

* * *

Hermione felt like a golf ball was lodged in her throat. What was she getting herself into? She self-consciously straightened her skirt before sitting on his black leather sofa. The house looked derelict and worn, but cozy. Her eyes scanned the shelves automatically. Among the obvious Potions books and academic journals, there were many works of fiction and non-fiction by magical and muggle authors alike. Many looked to be first editions.

"Tea?" Severus held a cup toward her, which she accepted gratefully.

"Your library is impressive," she said. _Oh, brilliant, _she thought, _what now? "So, Severus, have you read any good books lately?" _She heaved a mental sigh. There was no way she could ever have an easy conversation with her Potions Master.

"Thank you. Coming from the resident Know-it-all of Hogwarts, that's quite a compliment."

She was about to retort hotly when she noticed the slightest trace of a smirk hovering over the edge of his teacup. He was teasing her. Wait...Severus Snape was teasing?

Her opinion of the enigmatic man on the opposite sofa was shifting drastically with every encounter. The motion was making her seasick, and she wondered if she'd ever encounter dry land.

"Which is your favorite?"

She blinked. "I'm sorry, my mind was a hundred miles away. What did you say?"

He gestured toward the book-covered walls. "My library. Is there a particular favorite that you see? It's not my whole collection by any means. Most of my library is at Hogwarts or in Prince Manor."

She went over to the nearest shelf, getting as close as possible without actually touching any of the leather bindings. "May I...?"

"Of course. It's going to be half yours before long."

She gulped down the ill feeling that the thought brought with it, choosing instead a tome from the bookcase. A first edition printing of _Pride and Predjudice._ She heard Severus chuckle behind her.

"I should have known that you're a Jane Austin enthusiast, Hermione."

She gave him a weak smile and sat down as he explained the preservation charms used on the older books to keep them looking new. She flipped through the novel in silence for a moment or two, seeing brief moments unfold in the life of Elizabeth Bennett.

"Oh, I nearly forgot to ask you," Severus cleared his throat, "Did you receive your gifts?"

Hermione blushed. "Yes, I did. They're all so beautiful, I don't know if I can—"

"You'll accept them, Hermione, or I shall be forced to be offended." His easy smirk eased her tension a little. "The ring belonged to my great-great-grandmother. She was forced into an arranged marriage, but after eighty-two years of being with my great-great-grandfather, she told me one night that they had fallen quite in love very quickly. I was nine at the time, and she died shortly thereafter, but she told me that it's bound with charms for fidelity, wisdom, and compatibility."

Hermione took another long look at the jewel on her left hand. "Thank you," she said quietly. "It means a lot that you would entrust me with something like this."

He took her hand in his and she met his eyes. There was no love, no warm feelings reflected in his gaze, but his eyes were a little softer, a little more open. Hermione smiled. "Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. You're starting to grow on me, Severus Snape."

* * *

The next morning, the Minister was found in muggle London, robbed of his wand, missing two days of memory, and furiously raving about setting the Aurors to work tracking Voldemort. After an hour or two in St. Mungo's, he was released and pronounced fit to return to work.

* * *

_Ok, so now you've read it. Next step: Review!_


	6. Chapter V

_A/N: Ok, so I realized that I can't keep track of my own timeline. I realize that Harry is 17 now and that the term starts on Sep. 1st. The timeline of Hermione and Severus' wedding has been changed in chapter 4 from six weeks to three weeks._

_Also: this is still un-beta'd and un-brit-picked. Feel free to volunteer, but until then, all mistakes are my own._

_Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the plot, and I'll admit that even that's not terribly original._

_**CHAPTER V:**_

It was with a deep-seated revulsion that Severus Snape again donned his black cloak and white skull mask. He had contacted the Dark Lord to seek an audience with him, and had been summoned immediately to his master's side. He was supremely glad that he had waited until Hermione had apperated away, because the pain that came through the Dark Mark seared with Voldemort's irritation. He rubbed it soothingly one last time before apperating away.

Snape entered the ballroom of Malfoy Manor as quietly as he could. A quick glance around the room told him two things. First, the Dark Lord had not yet arrived; second, Thertius's blood had been completely cleaned from the marble floor. The house elves must have worked through the next day to clean that much blood. He idly wondered what they did with the bodies of traitors.

He knelt before the empty throne, even though no one else was in the room. It would not be good for his health if he was standing when Voldemort entered.

When the wizard in question swept into the room, it was with an air of supreme irritation. "This had better be important, Severus. I have business to attend to." His robes billowed in a way that made Severus slightly jealous. He had never been able to get his own robes to flow in such an intimidating manner.

When the Dark Lord bade him to speak, Severus wasted no time with unnecessary information. "I have secured Hermione Granger's hand for marriage, my lord. We will wed a week before the start of the term."

The Dark Lord hissed in pleasure. "Wonderful, Severus. You have proven your worth to me yet again." He settled into his throne before continuing, "You will cultivate her affection and draw out her secrets. Soon, my many threads of work will wind together, and our conquest will be complete. Rise, my friend."

Snape did so, surprised. He was never asked to stand when alone with his master.

"Give me your arm, Severus." Voldemort held his arm in a gentle but firm grip and raised his wand. Severus swallowed harshly against the bile rising in his throat. The tip of the wand brushed his Mark and he gazed at his arm in fascination as threads of dark green wound themselves through the image of the snake. The eyes of the skull colored in with red, and the entire tattoo now pulsed with dark energy. It happened in an instant, but the pain didn't register until a moment or two later. Severus couldn't hold back a moan.

Then, suddenly, it was over. Severus slumped onto the floor, clutching his forearm.

"The pain will pass, my servant. And the energy will dissipate enough to make your Mark as subtle as it has ever been by the time you see any Order members."

"Thank you, my lord." He wanted to vomit, the pain was so sharp.

"And now," the Dark Lord's voice suddenly took on a more menacing quality, "You shall receive your punishment. Your trespasses are twofold. First, you have contacted me during a time when I was otherwise occupied. Second, you have neglected to tell me of your engagement the _instant_ it happened. You have been engaged for almost twenty-four hours. It is your solemn duty to keep me apprised of your situation with the girl from this day forward. Is that understood."

Eyes set on the floor, bracing himself for the curse he knew was coming, Severus said, "Yes, my lord."

"_Crucio!"_

____________________________________

Hermione had been reading a novel on her bed and petting Crookshanks when she began to feel suddenly and violently ill. She rushed to the bathroom just in time to heave up her supper and the tea from her visit with Severus.

_Severus! _For some unexplainable reason, she _knew_ that this was the cause of her discomfort. He was in pain. She was glad her parents were out, especially when she moaned at the onset of another spasm. She sat back on the floor of the bathroom and wrapped her arms around her stomach. The pain was so intense! Another spasm, and the mirror suddenly shattered into thousands of shards.

She watched, fascinated, as the pain slowed her perception of the falling glass. It hadn't exploded outward, but was simply falling straight down onto the countertop and into the sink. With a flash of inspiration, she yanked off her ring. The pain stopped immediately.

She stood on shaky legs and retrieved her wand from her bedroom before casting _reparo_ at the glass shards. Then she again watched, transfixed, as the pieces formed back together not just like new, but even better. The small nick in the center from when her mother had slipped and hit it with a curling iron—it was gone! She took a closer look at the glass and would have sworn that any imperfection that might have been there originally was now completely erased. How odd.

The glint of her ring caught her eye from its place on the floor. She picked it up and felt a sharp tingle in her fingers, leading her to assume Severus was still in pain.

She made a snap decision and ran to retrieve her shoes. Likely, he was under the Cruciatus curse and would need help once he arrived home. She apperated to Spinner's End, thankful that Severus had given her the information to bypass his wards. It had been an act of good faith, but Hermione hadn't expected to have to use it so soon.

She rushed inside to see that he wasn't home yet. She touched a finger to the ring in her pocket, but didn't receive any negative sensations this time. He was probably on his way. She got the kettle going, desperate for some kind of busy-work to calm her frayed nerves.

She heard the telltale _pop_ of apparition right before an immediate _thump. _She opened the door to find Severus had collapsed on the front stoop, but was still awake. He gave her a quizzical look before moaning and attempting to rise.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Severus. Here," she pulled one of his arms around her shoulders and guided him to one of the sofas. As soon as he was settled, she asked, "What can I do?"

"Downstairs is my personal lab." He sounded tired and hoarse. "There are two supply cabinets down there; on left is ingredients, on the right is finished potions. In that one, you'll find a small square bottle full of a bright green potion. Make sure it's the thinner one, because a dose of the undiluted potion might very well kill me."

She nodded and ran to fetch the potion. When she returned with it in hand, she handed it to him before heading back to the kitchen to fetch him some tea. He was sitting up and looked much more relaxed when she got back.

He took the tea gratefully. "I never have the strength to make tea on these nights, but it is certainly good to have."

She smiled uncertainly. He was being distinctly un-Snapelike and she could feel her perception of him shift once more. "Your welcome," she said.

Two refills of tea later, he sighed. "I suppose you have questions."

"They can wait until you feel better."

"Don't worry," he said, "That potion is of my own design. Something I've developed just this summer. It reduces the after-effects of the Cruciatus to a dull ache rather than roaring pain. Unfortunately, there are side effects. I won't be able to lift anything heavier than this teacup for about an hour."

"Wow...that's..." Hermione didn't know what to say. She had known, of course, that he was a Potions Master. A bit of research in her first year had shown that the title wasn't given to just anyone with a penchant for Potions. You had to earn the title through rigorous apprenticeship, testing, and regular re-certifications. What she hadn't thought about was the fact that he must be a brilliant researcher and developer of the art as well. Again, her opinion of him shifted. Puzzle pieces were beginning to fit together, but she doubted she would ever understand the masterpiece called Severus Snape.

She remembered her ring and put it back on. He scowled. "Why did you take it off?"

"For the same reason I'm here to brew you tea," she said. The memory of the pain and nausea was unpleasant. "You failed to mention that intense feelings are transmitted through this ring, as well."

"I'm afraid I didn't know." He leaned back with a weary sigh. "How bad was it?"

She winced. "Painful, but nowhere near the actual thing, I imagine."

"Hmm."

"Severus?"

"Hmm?" His eyes were closed.

"Do you want me to help you to your room? You'll wake up sore if you sleep there."

"Mmm."

She took that as assent and pulled a heavy arm over her shoulders once more.

————————————————

Harry sat up in bed, rubbing his scar. He had seen and heard the whole encounter, and he was livid. _Snape? _It couldn't be true. There was simply no way that Hermione would choose to marry that greasy git.

He was lying, he had to have been.

If he wasn't, Harry was going to kill him, spy or no spy.

———————————————————

In Dumbledore's office, the old wizard was polishing up some paperwork when one of his silver instruments began to spin. He looked up, sure that he must have been mistaken. This particular gadget hadn't gone off in over seventy years. Another Elemental had just come into their power.

"What do you think, Fawkes? Perhaps someone we know?"

The trill that returned was the phoenix's version of a verbal shrug.

"Ah, well. We must keep a careful eye on the students this year. I want to find this Elemental before they fall into Tom's hands."


End file.
